To Those I Leave Behind
by GoblinFae
Summary: The thoughts and memories of the one who left them all behind.. Contains character death. Prequel to the one-shots The Left Behind's Lament and The Left Behind's Promise but can stand-alone.


Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and basic storylines do not belong to GoblinFae but to other authors. Concepts, characters, and plots belonging to GoblinFae are copyrighted and plagiarism will not be tolerated. Violation may result in being thrown into the fiery chasm from which you came. GoblinFae will gladly do this.

Author's Note: This proceeds The Left Behind's Lament and The Left Behind's Promise but is not necessary to read in that order.

To Those I Leave Behind  
By: GoblinFae

It's funny the things you remember when left alone to your thoughts. The road is long as we hurry onward in silence towards the stronghold of men. Yet, it is not the road before me but that which lays behind me that weighs so heavy in my thoughts. It is always the little things that stand out so starkly against the dark stage where my mind plays out its memory theater.

My son was excited at my leaving, not quite old enough to understand yet, completely wrapped up in the moment and enthralled by the idea of his father being a hero once more. I can see him now as I did evening last, jumping on and off furniture, brandishing his play sword or bow and arrow as he struck down enemy orcs while biding me watch and take notes for my own sojourn outside the safety of the mellyrn.

Ever in my footsteps he danced from room to room behind me, crashing into walls and chairs in his haste to keep up and show me one more thing. I wished that I had more time with him even as I sharpened blade and re-feathered arrows. Yet, I did not have the heart to send him away as normally I would have when doing such things.

It was as I put him to bed though with one more story and another kiss that I noticed how handsome he was becoming. His hair, feather-light and pale as cornsilk, tickled my calloused palm as I stroked his head and watched his him sigh with a happiness that can come only from a child's dreams. He has grown up so quickly. It seems not that long ago he was as small our youngest and yet now he is ever more and more wanting to be like his mother and father before him, a warrior. I pray, as I know my beloved does, that that time is still long in coming, that his days of play and mirth are long and many in number.

We sleep but I find myself no more rested. I doubt I will truly feel rested until I am once more ensconced in my family's loving embrace. The short time I allow us to stop wears on some of us more than the running. With bodies stilled there are no footsteps to count, no aches to try and ignore, no rhythm of movement to adhere to. There is only the silence and the stillness and it is here that the mind truly begins to wreak havoc on the strength of a man. It gnaws at you with homesickness and weariness, with reminders of faults and past guilt, with worries and fears until you want nothing more than to break. Only once the body is driven to rise again to rush forward, do such thoughts retreat enough to remind the warrior of his own physical weakness until both mind and body rebel before the battle has even begun.

Time passes, although I have been too distracted to keep track of it. My brothers would worry greatly if they knew this. A soldier's distraction can mean his life yet I do not believe it will be mine. It is not arrogance that brings me to this conclusion but steadfast determination. I have too much to live for. I have a family to love and to raise. I will not leave them behind. I will not make a widow of my wife. As a marchwarden I have too many lives resting on my shoulders and I will not buckle under this weight.

Old friends at the keep embrace me and yet all I long for and all I can think of is of a much gentler embrace from a woman that smells of lavender. I do not doubt that she is awake, spending sleepless nights waiting for me return. A warrior and a warrior's wife she carries the worries of both. She knows this is my duty as much as it is hers when she is called to the battlegrounds. Yet like any woman who has loved, she dreads our parting and welcomes each return, praying it is the last.

The trumpets sound and the army of the enemy stands before us. Looking along the lines I see the grim faces of those on either side of me. Orophin catches my eye and I see a question within his own. Perhaps my distractedness has not been as carefully hidden as I thought. Turning towards our other brother I find the same look there too. I really need to work on that then. When did I become so readable? Is it just with them? Can my men tell the same? Have they lost faith in their commander whose thoughts stray ever homeward?

There is no time to ponder further though as the chaos begins. It is thankfully mind numbing, leaving me with no room for distractions as I parry and lunge, cutting down each foul beast one after another. Has it only been minutes or days that have passed as we battle for our lives and for those we protect? It is irrelevant as we are besieged in waves by the creatures.

Aragorn calls up the wall to retreat and I feel my very bones rejoice at the chance to rest for but a moment. Even elves have limits and I have long since reached mine. Sending the call further down towards the rest of my soldiers, I wait to allow others ahead and cover our backs in the retreat.

My left side and arm sear with burning pain as a cruel blade slips beneath my armor. It stuns me to feel something so strongly after the numbness that weariness and rain have brought upon me. Reflexively I strike down more of the enemy but without the awareness I had before. The pain becomes more unbearable with every second, so I hurry on my way to the keep.

Yet, I do not make it far before another overwhelming lance of pain races down my spine and jarringly out through my body. I stare out ahead of me in shock and yet the only thing I can think of is the look on my beloved's face when she comes to know of my falling. If what they say of love is true then she may already know but, to have it confirmed I fear my send her to the western shores in grief. My beautiful, spirited, loyal wife will be broken by the loss of a loved one. My son, my daughter, their faces dance before my eyes even as I gaze nearly unseeing upon the dead faces of elves I had called friends and companions.

This world fades before my eyes as memories fight to be seen against the growing darkness. There is my son taking his first steps. My wife dances at our sibling's wedding. Our little girl kicks against my palm within my beloved's swollen belly. I see my brothers sparring as children and then later adults. Eyes of blue, hair of gold, it is becoming a blur that strikes fear into my dying heart.

My time has come. This is my end. Forgive me for I am weak. I have not the strength to carry on, to return home as promised. To those I leave behind, I am sorry. I die with honor but I would rather be at your sides. The hope of men fades. The sun does not rise.

Do not hate me, my son, because your father was unable to come home. Hold onto no guilt my brothers who could not be at my side. I am glad you are safe. Grow up well, my children; do not resent what you have lost. Beloved, do not live in the past and cling only to my memory; do not allow bitterness to taint the wildness I always loved about you.

Do not fade. Do not follow me so soon. All those I leave behind, be strong. Remember me and move on. We will meet again. I love you. I love you. I love-


End file.
